


Things that Go Bump in the Night

by warm_nostalgia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Little Bit Of Crack, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Comedy, Cuties, Dangerous Situations, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Frottage, Guns, John's got a sailor mouth, LOTS of onomatopoeia, M/M, Onomatopoeia, Oral Sex, Poor John, Protective John, Protective Sherlock, Short Chapters, Smut, Stress Relief, Suspense, TW: ANIMAL DEATH :(, break-ins, but it can sort of be justified, cuties being cuties, giggles, mention of biscuits, someone left the window open, sorry about the tags, sort of, stichomythia, that's a great tag, which are sound words!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 22:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1664186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warm_nostalgia/pseuds/warm_nostalgia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, I think we've got a visitor.”</p><p>Sherlock rolled back over. “I don't take clients this late,” he responded groggily.</p><p>“No, Sherlock, we have an intruder.“</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is for any new readers: there is a scene in Chapter 2 which may be NOT for animal lovers. It's not to do with any house pets, so not a dog or cat or rabbit, etc., if you're primarily concerned about that. This is your warning! 
> 
> Major apologies to any readers previous who may have been upset. The warning has changed to Graphic Depictions of Violence, and though that's a heavy tag for light gore, I want to be careful and respect everyone! 
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for reading.

_Schhhrrrffff._

 

John's eyes flickered open, then closed again. “Go back to sleep, berk,” he murmured tiredly.

 

_Fwwwwump._

 

John blinked his eyes open again. “Sherlock, I'm not telling you again,” he groaned, and rolled over to face the detective. But he found his significant other was snuffling softly into his pillow, murmuring slurred French with furrowed brows. Typical.

 

_THUNK. THUNK._

 

John jumped and sat straight up. The sounds were coming from beyond the door. The sitting room, maybe?

 

Sherlock snored ungracefully and flung an arm over John's face. John peeled it away and began to shake him gently.

 

“Sherlock. _Sherlock._ Wake up,” he hissed, and pressed a palm over Sherlock's mouth as his partner regained his consciousness. “Shush. It's fine, it's me. Stay quiet.” Instantly, an icy glare was thrown in his direction as Sherlock stuck out his tongue and licked his palm.

 

“Oi! Stop that,” John whispered quickly, wiping his hand on the bed sheets. “Look, I think we've got a visitor.”

 

Sherlock rolled back over. “I don't take clients this late,” he responded groggily.

 

“No, Sherlock, we have an –“

 

_Shhhhrrrrfff._

 

Sherlock bolted upward, suddenly alert.

 

“...intruder,” John finished with a sigh. “Listen, I want you to stay here. I'm just –“

 

“ _What?_ John, you are not going alone. Don't be stupid,” Sherlock clipped. John merely shook his head.

 

“I'll be fine. It's probably a mouse. Or something.”

 

 _A mouse moving furniture. Right, Watson, nice,_ John thought to himself as he moved to the bedside table. He pulled out his gun and loaded it, clicking in place, and felt a dip in the bed as Sherlock moved and headed to their closet. He returned with a harpoon.

 

“Sherlock.” John's tone was a warning in itself.

 

“I'm not going to stab him unless it is completely necessary. Or if he hurts you in any way,” was Sherlock's excuse.

 

John shook his head, amused. “Fine, fine. You can come with, but be careful.” Standing in nothing but his boxer shorts and pajama top, he stepped toward him. He cradled Sherlock's jaw and leaned in to kiss his lips tenderly. “Be very careful. You don't know who we're dealing with.” He paused. “I love you.”

 

Sherlock moved close to bump their foreheads together. “Don't say that now. You make it sound like one of us is bound to get shot in the brain.” He brushed his lips against John's forehead and stepped away, and John stepped in front to lead them out of the room.

 

_SHHHHNK._

 

John's heart nearly leapt into his throat, and he felt Sherlock's hand on the center of his back for a moment before it drew away. John soldiered on down the corridor as paper shifted and tapping clamped down on the floorboards. It was too dark to see anything.

 

Clicking off the safety of his gun, John rounded the corner, pulse thrumming hard like drumbeats in his ears. He lifted his weapon. Shadows danced around the walls. A light thump hit the floor, and John turned toward the kitchen, gun raised.

 

Everything happened at once.

 

Something brushed John's leg, Sherlock cried out something he didn't hear, and his breath caught in his throat before he slipped, stumbled backward and onto the floor with a hard thump.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in the process of making a second chapter, obviously, so this will be resolved. However, it might not come around until Thursday. Finals and such. Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Also, if any of you ever go on the Omegle Johnlock tag for roleplaying and see one similar to this plot, that's me. Except I use a crappy prompt, one character per person and all.)
> 
> Also also (that's two 'also's!), my chapters are short because I don't write fanfic very often. Sorry. Hopefully the next one will be longer because it'll be cute and there's enough fluff to go around with a happy ending, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silly things happen.  
> Our intruder is revealed.  
> Probably the most ridiculous thing I've ever wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied! Screw finals!  
> (I couldn't leave this.)

As it turns out, John Watson slipped on a biscuit.

 

The lights were flicked on in an instant as Sherlock had bolted across the room, waving his harpoon in front of him.

 

“John, get back!” he repeated.

 

John had been studying the room the moment the room was illuminated. Papers were strewn from his desk onto the carpet and wood floor. Books had been knocked over, their spines stretched open and toppled both upside down and right-side up. There was a ripped up biscuit box by his feet. Claw marks in the wood. He glanced up, noting that the window was open about halfway.

 

Sherlock dropped the harpoon and grabbed his blogger by the arms, dragging him backward and spontaneously up to his feet as he pushed him behind. He stumbled in front of Sherlock again anyway, instinctively protective of his lover.

 

“Look,” Sherlock cried, pointing his harpoon at a shadow in the corner. “Right there.”

 

That's when he saw it.

 

A pair of glowing eyes hid in the corner by the bookcase, huddled. It snarled. John blinked at the creature.

 

“A...a raccoon. That's...”

 

John blinked.

 

“That's a _fucking raccoon,_ ” John finished finally. He glanced up at his tense detective, then snorted and doubled over when the creature pattered out cautiously from its hiding spot. There was a half-eaten biscuit in its mouth, and the feral creature removed it, staring warily as it held it in its paws.

 

John howled with laughter, clutching onto Sherlock, who remained still as a tree.

 

The animal dropped the biscuit and got down on all fours again. Its beady eyes widened. Its lip curled in a hiss, and it began to charge forward, directly for John.

 

John stopped laughing and scrambled for his weapon, aiming it at the raccoon. He felt Sherlock's presence slip away, but didn't avert his gaze from the animal as it came toward him. _Boyfriend of the Year,_ John complained inwardly.

 

He'd been abandoned.

 

With a _feral animal._

 

“Shit – fuck – Sherlock, _Sherlock!_ ” he yelled. “Fuck, oh hell, oh shit, shit, shit, Sherlock! Get your arse back over here!”

 

The raccoon picked up speed, crossing the room with a quick pace, and launched into the air to John's face as he waved his gun uselessly at the animal. He closed his eyes and yelped, ducking down. He prepared himself for the sting of claws, sharp teeth, and lots of doctors appointments.

 

_Fwoosh, crrrrrrack!_

 

John peeked when he realized that nothing was clawing at his head or chewing on him like the biscuit. The first thing he saw was a dead raccoon on their carpet. The next thing he saw was Sherlock polishing blood off his beloved harpoon with his stripped-off pajama top. He caught John's gaze.

 

“Oh. Don't worry, it'll wash out,” was all he replied with.

 

John stood up, stared at the dead raccoon, and sighed. He placed his gun on the coffee table and grunted as he flopped his bum on the couch. Sherlock set down his weapon and shirt, joining him.

 

“You're welcome,” Sherlock retorted to the silence.

 

“It was your turn tonight. You left the window open,” John replied with a glare.

 

More silence.

 

“Sorry,” Sherlock muttered after a moment, feeling obliged.

 

“Thank you.” John cleared his throat. “I mean, for...saving me. From a raccoon.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Silence.

 

“It smells. I can smell it from here, Sherlock.”

 

“That's the smell of victory, John.”

 

John glared again.

 

“Yes. Right. I'll go take it out,” Sherlock murmured quickly, moving off the couch with incredible speed and heading to the kitchen. He grabbed a trash bag and quickly moved to bag the dead creature. In less than three minutes, he'd made it back from the bins outside and returned to John's side. “All taken care of.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“Yes.”

 

They weren't sure who started fighting a smile first, but they were suddenly toppled on each other and roaring with laughter, bodies shaking and tears in their eyes.

 

“He wanted my fucking biscuits!” John cried.

 

“You waved a gun at a wild animal,” Sherlock wheezed.

 

“My _biscuits –!_ ”

 

“Yes, everyone knows how much your biscuits mean to you –”

 

“The box is ruined now, I'm going to have to head to the shops and get rabies-free ones –“

 

Sherlock grabbed John's face and kissed him.

Hard.

With _tongue._

John could only moan in response, clawing at Sherlock's bare chest. Their lips separated just as quickly as they'd joined.

 

“Shut up about your biscuits and I will personally buy you a box from the shops.”

 

John nearly swooned. His phone chimed a text message across the room. He moved to grab it from the mantle and shook his head, tossing the phone to Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

 

**[ 1 NEW MESSAGE ]**

**Mrs Hudson**

**Delivered at 13:37 A.M.**

_BOYS!!!! Do keep it down!! It's a bit late for a romp, isn't it?? I wasn't going to msg you but Mrs Turner msged me and complained!! Married ones almost called the police on you two. :-(_

_This is Mrs Hudson, by the way. LOL._

_(That means lots of love. But not too much!!!)_

 

* * *

 

Sherlock pressed the reply button and tapped out a message.

* * *

 

 

_Invest in earplugs. They're fairly cheap._

_-SH_

 

* * *

 

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, what did you say?” John grabbed the phone from him and shook his head at the reply, quickly sending an apology one of his own and mentioning that it was a raccoon. He left out the bit about the carcass. “Prat.” He glanced over at him as he stood, and snorted. Sherlock was laid out on the couch, hand trailing down his bare chest and eyelids lowered as he watched John.

 

“Would you _like_ to give them something to text about?” he asked, and John nearly dropped the phone. Keeping cool, he deposited it on the coffee table instead and grinned. In seconds, he was on Sherlock, straddling his hips as large hands rucked up his pajama top.

 

“We'll give them something to gossip about over their breakfast,” John murmured, and tugged Sherlock's lower lip with his teeth.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really contemplating writing another chapter to, uh, make up for the end here, if you know what I mean. But I'm going to be sorely awkward because I've not written smut in forever. Up to you guys, really. A few votes might convince me, but I think this is good as it is in it's fluffy laughing slashy sauce.
> 
> Thanks for reading and all the subscribes to this story! xx
> 
> EDIT: I am mistaken in about this entire fic, so unless you're British or a cultured foreigner, you will know that there aren't actually raccoons in the UK, and neither are there rabies. Disappointing, but good to know. My thanks to sammywol for commenting in this chapter to inform me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *tosses chapter into pillowcase*  
> HERE. TAKE THE SMUT. JUST DON'T SHOOT.  
> (It's optional to read this! It doesn't conclude anything.)

“Sherlock – Jesus, don't drag me. I can walk on my own –“

 

“It could've been much more dangerous,” Sherlock breathed, stumbling backward down the hallway toward their bedroom. He pulled John into another hard kiss.

 

“Mmm – it wasn't,” John murmured against his mouth as they shut the door behind them. Sherlock immediately slammed him against it and claimed his lips softly. The doctor squirmed and moaned brokenly. He pulled back. “Sherlock, it was a wild animal. Not a human threatening my life. Calm down a b–“ Another searing kiss.

 

“Yes, well, we haven't had sex in four days,” Sherlock protested childishly, a snort of amusement coming from the man he was pressed against. “What?”

 

“For years I'd thought you were asexual. Your libido is out of control.”

 

“Asexual? I think I was. Until I met _you_.”

 

John grinned and shook his head. “Ooh. Right. Very smooth.”

 

“Do you want to be sucked off or not?”

 

“Uh, er, yeah. I'd – that'd be nice.” John made a little throat clearing noise and was surprised to be tugged by the hands and tossed onto the bed with a yelp. His back hit the mattress, springs creaking quietly, and just when he'd stopped bouncing, Sherlock had climbed up him and began sucking at his neck.

 

“ _Sherlock,_ ” John panted, eyes rolling back and closing as he craned his neck. “God, please.”

 

Sherlock growled gently at the encouragement and nipped around to his throat as John's hands dragged down his lover's chest, across spots and white scars and the littering of barely visible light brown hairs. The blogger only opened his eyes when Sherlock's lips had vanished from his neck and his chest slid from under his palms. Uncomfortable in the heat, John sat up and pulled off his pajama top, tossing it off the bed, and then sat up on his elbows as Sherlock removed his boxer shorts. His thick erection hit his stomach with a _slap_ , flushed pink at the head and giving a twitch in reaction to the cool air.

 

Sherlock's eyes met his, and John smiled, heart fluttering as he leaned down a bit and met Sherlock halfway as they kissed. Fingers twisted into Sherlock's dark hair, pulling him close in the warm lip embrace, and released his hair when he pulled away and slithered south. His pants were finally tugged away from his ankles, and Sherlock pushed off the bed. He scrambled out of his pajama bottoms and briefs in a few swift movements, and stumbled to the bed again. John looked him up and down as he'd stripped, chest heaving with arousal and hand teasing the base of his own cock. The doctor grinned, teeth releasing the lower lip he was biting to stifle his noises.

 

“Get that gorgeous arse of yours over here, will you?” His voice was deep and rough, his pupils blown, and a pleasant red flush dabbing his cheeks and nose.

 

Sherlock moved onto the bed and spread John's legs, shifting between them. “I've told you, beauty is –“

 

“A concept formed by memories and influences of one's childhood, yeah, whatever. I still think you're the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Inside and out.”

 

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Inside?”  
  


“Metaphorically,” John clarified.

 

With a chuckle, Sherlock ducked his head and traced his tongue along the inside of John's thigh, slowly lapping at the seam connecting the leg and pelvic bone. John was groaning below him, grabbing a handful of the detective's curls, mostly to steady himself. “ _Fuck,_ ” he breathed out. “Suck me off, Sherlock. I want it, I want you, so badly. I want your mouth on me. Please.” 

 

Sherlock didn't hesitate to oblige and dragged his tongue up the length of John's glistening cock. His lips stopped at the side of the head, where he sucked lightly with his lips. On his way up, his tongue flicked in the slit at the top just as a milky pearl of pre-ejaculate bubbled to the surface. 

 

John had to close his eyes as he cried out, biting the skin of his fist and fighting the urge to orgasm immediately. Muffled swears fell from his lips as Sherlock pulled back and squeezed the base of John's cock.

 

“All right?” he asked sympathetically.

 

John shook his head and kept his eyes closed. Sherlock released his hand and waited. When John's eyes finally opened, he licked his lips and dropped to the bed. “You were right. Four days is too long,” he murmured. Sherlock laughed softly in reply, kissing his fluttering stomach gently, and moved his hand to John's cock again. “Wait, wait – let's – “ John batted Sherlock's hand away. “Let's come together. I want to come with you, love.”

 

Sherlock blinked, then flushed as he ran a hand down to give himself a tug, biting his lip and stifling a groan. John nodded and pulled Sherlock on top of him, their members brushing at the bases. They both moaned softly, and Sherlock adjusted them so they were aligned, licking his hand thoroughly before allowing his long fingers to wrap around them securely. John almost whimpered in frustration and licked his own palm of his left hand, joining Sherlock's. 

 

“Okay, come on, love. Let's...” John moved his hand down, head tipping backward with a choked moan when Sherlock followed his lead and they began to move together, pumping their cocks. John began thrusting into their hands, and Sherlock rutted against John slowly, low groans and grunts slipping out of the detective. “Shit, that's good. Sherlock. Oh, Sherlock...” John's back arched a moment, and he cried out softly as more pre-come slipped out of the tip of his penis. He could see Sherlock's eyelids droop, and felt his movements speed up against him. Sherlock's pre-ejaculate soon enough mingled with his, dribbling on John's stomach in a puddle.

 

“John, Jo _-ohn_ – I'm – I'm close,” he choked out, hips grinding against his flatmate's as he moaned several times, each time crying out louder and more desperate.

 

“Fuck, oh Christ, oh Sherlock – love, I'm...” John gasped sharply, and his vision very nearly tunneled. “I'm there, I'm coming, I'm _coming,_ love, _Sherlock!_ ”

 

John scrambled quickly, grabbing Sherlock by the back of his neck and kissing him sloppily, tongues and teeth clashing imperfectly. His hips stuttered as his sight fuzzed out grey, and hot stripes of ejaculate painted his own chest and his and Sherlock's stomach. He could feel Sherlock trembling in anticipation as he nearly missed the mark, his first ram of orgasm hitting him right before John finished coming. Sherlock's seed had spilled thickly onto John and himself.

 

Along the way somewhere, they'd stopped kissing, substituting it with yelling or moaning, and John had thought he'd heard one of them let out a few ragged sobs. 

 

When the fog cleared, John found Sherlock on his chest, riding out his aftershocks by humping against him lightly, and saw the clear cringe on his face when he had softened to the point of oversensitivity. There was a guttural noise of utter relief and release from the detective, and John poked at his arm. “Hate to move you, but we're going to be glued together by spunk tomorrow morning if you don't,” he whispered. Sherlock laid there, breathing heavy for a few moments, then mumbled something and rolled away onto his back. 

 

“I'll be right back.” John leaned over to kiss his sweating forehead, pushing his fringe from his face, and heaved himself off the bed with a gelatin-like body.

 

Once he'd returned with a warm and wet flannel, Sherlock was cuddled into John's pillow, spread out across the bed like a realistic nude painting. His face was soft, the wrinkles dissolved, making him look years younger, John observed as he laid down near him. He smiled, heart warming and body thrumming with oxytocin as he shook his shoulder. “Sherlock. You awake?” 

 

Sherlock shifted, furrowing his brows. Ah, there were the lines again. “Mm?” He blinked his eyes open and the lines again disappeared as he met John's gaze, smiling softly. 

 

“You drifted off. Was it that boring?” he asked as Sherlock rolled over to expose his front. John dragged the flannel down Sherlock's stomach at the drying stains on his skin, the muscles of his abdomen tensing. 

 

“No, not boring. Not at all. We haven't had _that_ fantastic sex for a while, and it wasn't even penetrative.” Sherlock twitched and made an uncomfortable noise as he felt the flannel wipe gently at the head of his penis, and John shushed him gently and apologized.

 

Once John had cleaned himself up, he deposited the wet cloth to the floor and slid into Sherlock's open arms, which immediately tightened around him. On their sides, John leaned in and kissed Sherlock softly, chastely. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Sherlock murmured, tracing John's lower lip with a thumb.

 

They both drifted off in each others' arms, until John groaned in realization and pushed at Sherlock not two minutes later. “Sherlock.”

 

Sherlock groaned back, but in annoyance. “What? What  _is_ it?”

 

“The window's still open.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my god this is embarrassing this is my first published mature content .///.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! Thank you for the comments, kudos, and readings! Means a lot. If you have a prompt you'd like me to try out, feel free to comment it. I'd love to take any I can do. I don't think you can inbox here, can you? (I joined yesterday.)

**Author's Note:**

> I am in the process of making a second chapter, obviously, so this will be resolved. However, it might not come around until Thursday. Finals and such. Thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, my chapters are short because I don't write fanfic very often. Sorry. Hopefully the next one will be longer because it'll be cute and there's enough fluff to go around with a happy ending, right?


End file.
